


Holding Out and Holding On

by Kittycattycat



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Desperation, Gen, Guys I just like piss what do you want from me, Masturbation, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 18:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16728492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittycattycat/pseuds/Kittycattycat
Summary: The drink dwarfs his fist, really, and the idea that any human being could ever need to drink this much liquid at any given point is, quite frankly, ludicrous.It's exactly the sort of thing he wanted.





	Holding Out and Holding On

The drink dwarfs his fist, really. It's a ridiculously giant paper cup, almost twice the height of his hand and a bottom diameter nearly as big as his palm, with large beads of condensation already beginning to roll down the sides drop by drop. Whatever cheap fast-food restaurant the boys had gotten this monster of a thing from must think up some rather fantastical inaccuracies to make this thing even remotely reasonable. The idea that any human being could ever need to drink this much liquid at any given point unless they're having a fucking colonoscopy is, quite frankly, absolutely fucking ludicrous. 

It's exactly the sort of thing he wanted.

“Thank you, boys.” Hank beams back at him— Dean is already wandering towards the door with a mouth stuffed full of greasy and salt-covered french fries.

Being careful not to squeeze the cup too hard and cause the lid to pop off and spill the thing everywhere, Rusty sets the drink down on the table in front of him as he waves the two away from his work station. He's very much tempted to take the thing and start chugging immediately after they hand it to him, but he's also not keen on seeming that weird and, god forbid, desperate. As much as he loathe to admit it, he does in fact care what other people think of him. At least enough in such a way to not want his various sexual fetishes and kinks to become information the boys are aware of. Not that they would really assume it was anything fetishistic anyways; even as old as they were, they still held a sort of childlike naïveté to the ways of kink and sexuality.

But anyways. He doesn't really wanna be thinking about his kids when he’s trying to get his rocks off, so he decides to get off that train of thought at this station right here. They've left the room now and Hank closed the door a bit too harshly behind them, making a rather loud slamming noise (a muffled “sorry!” comes from the hallway, and Rusty sighs.) 

He picks up the cup and, with slightly-shaking hands, puts the straw to his lips. He gulps down mouthful after mouthful rapidly, and it's not until he really focuses on the taste that he realizes he didn't even ask what was in the cup to begin with. He's pretty sure it's some sort of new soda, judging by the carbonation making his tongue tingle and the brownish tint he can see through the semi-clear plastic straw— the boys always loved that sugary tooth-rotting crap. He continues sucking on the straw until his mouth is tired and his stomach feels uncomfortably heavy from the sudden influx of liquid after having a basically empty stomach (sans pills) for an entire day. Still, his bladder isn't very full at all. He last took a piss around half an hour ago, and he hasn't had much to drink since then. A sip or water or something, maybe, but not anything else that he remembers. Even still, the excitement building for what he's about to do to himself makes his cock twitch in anticipation. 

Despite all that Rusty drank, it hardly put a dent in the massive amount of soda he'd originally been given. He sat the cup back down on the edge of his desk and let the one-player waiting game begin.

-

He hasn't even managed to get to the first ten minute mark when he picks up the cup again. What can he say? He's horny and desperate to get this show on the road for real.

Three large sips later (he really wants to take a good few more, but he also knows the end result is far more pleasurable when he waits) and he's back to work on a new set of blueprints, the cup back on the edge of the desk.

-

After exactly thirty-three minutes and just a tad over one-third of the cup’s contents gone, Rusty’s physical responses were beginning. Small things, at first: the slightest bend in his posture, the deep inhales through his nose, the way he would find himself shifting from side to side in a somewhat futile attempt to alleviate the slow-growing pressure on his bladder. Fuck. That just wouldn't do, really. As he realizes what he'd been unconsciously doing, he attempts to grind his crotch into the chair he was seated in. His brows furrows immediately. Not much fun in it, really, not even so much as a shiver of need or want. So, curling his right hand into a soft fist, he slips his hand just below the waistline of his pants and pressed down suddenly against his own bladder. His breath hitches loud and he gasps, head tilting back just slightly. The need isn't too strong now, but pressing makes it grow faster and honestly? …The pleasure ain't too bad, either.

-

Now, if Rusty is remembering his basic biological facts right (and he most certainly is,) the average human stomach can hold roughly thirty-two or so ounces of liquid at once.

Rusty has just downed forty-five.

“Oh Christ,” Rusty whispers under his breath. He's openly squeezing himself now, rocking back and forth against the palm cupping his bulge and fidgeting all over the place as the sharp pangs in his bladder grow stronger and more overwhelming. The once semi-soft area of his bladder has now become so bloated that it feels tight as hell, like a drum— and no matter how much he may have wanted to, pressing down on it was now far too painful to bear, even for him. God, fuck. He's so hard, it's gonna be such a pain in the ass to relieve himself like this. 

Even as his hand creeps towards it, Rusty leers at the ginormous cup like it’s the root of all evil in this world. Both the lid and straw had been removed a good while back— it was just easier to tip the thing back instead of expending the energy to suck. Suddenly, though, that seems like it had been an awfully shitty idea, because with the way his one free hand is violently shaking it really is a surprise the entirety of the remaining liquid hasn't been dumped across his work station. Trying as he might, there were still a good few dribbles down the front of his shirt as he brings the thing to his lips and takes the smallest sips he can manage. Once, the action would have refreshed him, but now the mere thought made him want to gag. There wasn't any room left for more liquid inside of him. Rusty was used to pushing boundaries and limits, but he just can't fucking take anymore. The cup is slammed unceremoniously down onto the table once more, sloshing some of the partially warm soda down onto the cool metal. 

“Oh, shit!” Rusty hisses, grabbing hard at himself when a particularly painful jolt hit his bladder. A small amount of piss had begun to leak, a small dark spot on his jeans hidden by his hands. It felt good as hell to let even that little bit out, but. No. Not yet. He can hold it longer. His face was turning a dusty red now. A low whine managed to escape from his throat before he could manage to hold it back. Everything aches, the stress and pain from his overly full bladder echoing throughout his entire body. He feels like he might throw up. He can't even think straight anymore, much less focus on finishing his project. It's hard to even remember to breathe now. ‘Just let it go,’ a voice in his head reminds him.

And so, he does.

“Hhuh…” is all he manages to grunt before the floodgates open suddenly. A very, very audible hissing sound fills the entire room as the smallish dark patch on the front of his jeans grows and grows, streams of hot urine pouring down his inner thighs and legs with wild abandon. His fingers clutch hard at the edge of his desk while piss pools in his chair and dribbles down the sides. God, he's fucking disgusting. Heat is pooling low in his abdomen even as he empties his bladder on the spot. Everything is going to be filthy and smell like piss. He’ll need to clean it before the boys or Brock see it. One hand is still down against his crotch, not in any vain attempt to stop the piss from coming out, but to feel the warm liquid spraying against the already damp as hell fabric. His cock keeps trying to get hard but he just keeps fucking pissing, it feels so incredible. His glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose and his body jerks and twitches. 

The pee has made it down to his socks, now, soaking in just enough that it's gonna feel absolutely fucking nasty when he tries to walk. Shit. How's he even gonna get new clothes? If he tries to go down the hall he's gonna drip everywhere now even if nobody spots him waddling with piss-soaked pants. He's gonna be too humiliated to even ask H.E.L.P.eR. Fuck.

He keeps rutting into his hand as he's finally almost finished emptying himself, the entire room now smelling strongly of piss. It doesn't take long for him to get hard again after all that— the still-warm fabric against his hand and the sensation of all that release has him weak. He immediately sticks his hand down his pants (it occurs to him that his hands are going to prune from fucking urine, and that makes him shiver violently) and begins to stroke himself with long, deliberate movements. His breathing is rough and ragged and he just keeps pumping. Reliving the memory of release again and again, it doesn't take long at all for him to orgasm hard, splattering cum all along the insides of his jeans and across his tightly-closed fist.

His breathing remains just as ragged as he comes down from the high of it all. His head is tilted back and his hand is resting idle inside of his pants, covered in cum and piss and sweat. His heart is still pounding violently inside his ears.

“God, what happened to me?” he mumbles after a few minutes of rest, biting his lip at the feeling of his piss-covered thighs still sticking together near the zipper of his jeans, “I used to be able to hold for at least a few hours when I was in college.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just got into VB, and the idea for this came to me at episode one because I'm nasty. Imagine my surprise when apparently Rusty fuckin pisses himself in ep two! Power move, really. 
> 
> (Sidenote, I'm still a little mad that mobile AO3 won't allow me to keep my italicized words when I copy-paste. Hrmm.)


End file.
